


Good Kind of Mistake

by Everlind



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:46:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everlind/pseuds/Everlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some mistakes are meant to be made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Kind of Mistake

**Good Kind of Mistake**

It is one of those mid-summer days when it is just _too hot_. Trees droop under the heat, the rich smell of flowers takes on a rather sickly-sweet smell as the sun rots them clear off of their stalks. The courts waver like phantasms, taking on shivering outlines. Heavy and stifling, the air presses down all around them.

Atobe stands at the sidelines, arms crossed as he watches his team practice.

Eventually he uncrosses them, as the sweat in the crease of his elbows starts to run down his forearms. Even the elastic of his shorts and briefs are slipping around on slick skin and dark from absorbing the moisture it can. His feet swim in their trainers. It is intolerable.

The only redeeming aspect is that the rest of the team is as malodorous, sweaty and disgusting as he is.

It a testimony of how warm it just is when Jiroh can't even sleep. Instead he half-heartedly hops around near the net, wearing Shishido's cap to protect him from sunburn. Sunscreen gives his skin a filmy white sheen. Mukahi has stopped hopping at all, instead he lies spread-eagled on the court, unmoving. His tiny brain might just've boiled itself over.

"Shishido, go and check whether Mukahi is still alive," Atobe says. Sweat drips into his eyes from the tips of his hair.

"Go and check yourself," Shishido mutters. His shirt is soaked. Sweat, water, Atobe doesn't know, doesn't want to know, but Shishido keeps peeling it away, only to have the fabric stick itself back to his torso as soon as he lets go.

"Shishido."

"Atobe."

" _Shishido._ "

"Atobe!"

"Yuushi!" Oshitari exclaims as he walks up to them.

Atobe rolls his eyes. Only Oshitari could thrive in these unnatural conditions. He looks positively gleeful as he stops in front of him

"Well then, Oshitari, you go check whether your doubles partner is still alive," Atobe tells him.

Oshitari squints. He's not wearing any glasses. Sweating as much as he is, the things would keep gliding off his nose even when he stood still. His eyes seem absurdly huge and dark without them.

"He's fine," Oshitari says. "Probably."

"Oh, alright," Shishido growls and grunts as he stands up from the bench. "I need to go and get a clean shirt anyway."

As he walks towards Mukahi's prone form, he takes off his wet shirt, flashing his naked back at them.

"Take it all off, baby!" Oshitari yells.

Shishido gives him the middle finger over his shoulder. Atobe knocks Oshitari over the back of his head.

"I hit him for you," he calls after Shishido.

Oshitari pouts. "Why do you insist on abusing me, Kei-chan? Why?" he asks forlornly.

Atobe smirks. "I do it out of love, Yuushi. Out of love."

"Oh. That's alright then," Oshitari nods. He smiles, "Kinky."

"Why do I put up with you?" Atobe wonders. He means it rhetorically.

"Out of love?" Oshitari ventures, still smiling.

Atobe rolls his eyes, but feels a stab of something low and panicky in the pit of his stomach. That hit a little too close to home for comfort. His cheeks feel hot. Hotter than before. He makes the mistake of not looking away.

The smile on Oshitari's mouth starts to waver and he blinks. He opens his mouth.

Atobe turns to Kabaji. "Time?"

"Ten more minutes," Kabaji says. He keeps squinting against the sun. He'll have a killer headache when he gets home. Atobe makes a mental note to get Kabaji a pair of sunglasses.

Atobe nods. "That's enough everybody!" He calls out.

It is no use. If they keep it up they'll do more damage than good. Just their luck that the gym was already booked by the basketball team, otherwise they could've practiced in the relative coolness of the building. And he doesn't want any other members of his team to pass out, either. Shishido is still poking at Mukahi, starting to look worried, until Hiyoshi walks up and dumps a bucket of water over him. Mukahi comes flying up, knocking heads with Shishido. The both of them sit groaning, clutching their foreheads.

"Atobe?" Oshitari says, still looking at him.

"What?" Atobe asks, arching both his eyebrows.

But Oshitari has always been too smart for his own good. He keeps looking at Atobe. His eyes shimmer.

Atobe scoffs, but does it badly and half-spits on himself.

 _Can it get any worse?_ he asks himself and hurries away.

***

You see, Atobe has a problem.

The problem is not the club house full of half-naked boys. The problem is not Jiroh as he face-plants right in the middle of the changing room, asleep. The problem is not Ohtori accidentally opening his locker door so violently he hits himself in the mouth when a naked Shishido races an equally naked Gakuto to the showers. The problem is not Shishido and Gakuto getting stuck in the doorway when they try to pass through it at the same time. The problem is not Hiyoshi who massages his temples and hums soothingly to himself under his breath. The problem is not Taki who complains he can't find his peeling cream, that he knows somebody must've borrowed it and was it you, Atobe? The problem is not Kabaji, who sits on the bench with his head in his hands, trying to keep his pounding head together.

No. Those things occur on daily basis. And Atobe, being the supreme being he is, deals with it just as neatly as he'd deal with tying his own shoelaces.

The problem is Oshitari.

Over the time they've known each other they've always been good friends. Best friends even, though not in the same way Kabaji is a part of his life, nor the way Oshitari and Mukahi spend most of their free time together. He doesn't trust Oshitari the same way he trusts Kabaji. Oshitari loves pulling one-eighties when you expect him to do the exact opposite. Just when Atobe thinks he's got him figured out, Oshitari will shatter any silly notions he might have conducted. The only thing you can rely on is for him not to be reliable. Oshitari is exiting and smart. He's mysterious and witty. And he's handsome, too.

Atobe shakes his head.

He's the last to enter a shower stall, just after Ohtori who is nursing a split lip. He's long since stopped teasing Ohtori, because of that. Atobe might understand how he feels. Not that it has anything to do with Oshitari, mind you. Not at all. He's just very, very adept at reading his fellow teammates.

Nothing more than that.

But that doesn't explain why he is hard and aching. And it certainly doesn't explain why his own hand drifts down when Oshitari starts his usual routine.

As in: jacking off really loud.

It's all Oshitari's fault.

And isn't it only natural that his own hormones, which are likewise in the turbulent state of adolescence, react to those wet, moist noises? Isn't it a given that Oshitari's deep groans of pleasure make Atobe squeeze his eyes closed as he curls a hand around himself? And might it not be just coincidence that he times his own movements to those he hears just a few stalls away from him?

Isn't that normal?

Apparently not.

"Goddammit, Yuushi, don't make me come in there and rip your dick off, ya pervert!" Mukahi yells.

The slapping noises stop.

"Why does he listen to you, but not to me?" Shishido wants to know.

"Because you're about as intimidating as a periwinkle Pomeranian," comes the return.

That sort of kills the mood. Atobe draws his hand away as the argument escalates and everybody else starts yelling at Shishido and Mukahi to shut up. The racket is ear-shattering: the showers rushing, the yelling and the snarling, the uproarious laughter echoing eerily, the pounding on the sides of the stalls, his shower curtain being pulled back, …

Wait.

Atobe would never admit to shrieking like a little girl, but that's what he does when a hand falls on his shoulder. Another hand claps over his mouth, smothers the rest of the high-pitched noise.

"Atobe?" Kabaji asks, worried, in the stall next to him.

Yanking himself loose, he whirls around. Oshitari looks at him. He's naked. And half-hard.

Atobe flails at him, a primitive sign-language that roughly translates to: _What are you doing you half-wit? Get out!_ Out loud he says, "I'm fine Kabaji, don't worry about it."

Oshitari puts a finger against his lips as he steps into Atobe's personal space.

Atobe steps back, hits the side of the stall. The shower sprinkles a small waterfall of droplets between them. "What are you doing?" he hisses as quiet as he can. As soon as he manages to get Oshitari out of his shower, he's kicking him off the team. Even better, he'll lock him into a crate and export him to Timbuktu. Or, preferably, off the planet. Pluto should be far enough away, right?

But for some reason Oshitari's gleaming skin and the vulnerability is his eyes are oddly… arousing. Not to mention that Oshitari has an amazingly good-looking body.

His cock waves hi at Oshitari. Oshitari's waves back.

Atobe mostly wishes he could die of shame.

"Yuushi!" He hisses again, thankful for the first time in his life that once Shishido and Mukahi start bickering, it takes a while for them to stop. "Can't you see I'm busy?!"

Which is the wrong thing to say, of course.

Oshitari's mouth quicks a little and his pointedly looks at Atobe's crotch. "I noticed," he whispers back. But the strange, soft look in his eyes remains.

"Then get out," Atobe hisses.

"I need to know," Oshitari murmurs. "Do you feel the same?"

"We're not talking about this in the shower!" Atobe snarls softly and points at the curtain. "Get out!"

"Not before you tell me," Oshitari whispers back.

Atobe can't believe the sheer nerve of him. He's such an infuriating pushy bastard. And he's still hard, despite his rising fury, for the love of God. At that moment, Atobe hates his body, perfect though it is.

"Keigo," Oshitari says. Atobe blinks and suddenly Oshitari has him nearly pinned against the wall. "Tell me," Oshitari whispers.

Cocky son of a bitch.

"No," Atobe answers with a curl of his lip, "I don't."

Oshitari's intake of breath stutters.

"Get out," Atobe adds.

Oshitari looks at him, brow furrowing. His eyes are dark and gleam like the wet water that pools on the floor.

"Liar," Oshitari murmurs.

And the next thing he knows Oshitari _has_ him pinned against the wall and is kissing him.

Atobe's brain not so conveniently short-circuits and he slides half down the wall before Oshitari manages to get a hold off him. Their mouths disconnect. The connection was brief enough to be categorized as nonexistent. Oshitari looks at him, his face slanted in close, but not pushing himself onto Atobe. The look on his face is raw.

Realizing he's stopped breathing, Atobe takes a much-needed intake of air.

This, right here, is the biggest mistake of his life.

He's the heir to one of Japan's largest, most influential companies. He's somewhat of a celebrity in the upper-class already, occasionally he even makes the newspapers. When he graduates he'll go to the best university there is, which will steam him ready to step into his father's shoes. The omiai will come streaming in as soon as he graduates.

Oshitari is smart, he's good at tennis and, yes, his resourcefulness even surpasses Atobe's, but he's a boy.

And even if he wasn't he'd never even manage to fulfill all of the criteria.

It's a mistake.

They stand and stare at each other. Oshitari has a nice mouth, full-lipped and surprisingly mobile. The expression on his face wobbles and those lips make a white line. He glances away from Atobe, lashes shielding his eyes. Atobe can _see_ him seal off his heart.

It's a mistake he wants.

Before he can think about it, Atobe tucks a strands of that dark hair away from Oshitari's forehead, a fair warning, and then he leans in to kiss him properly.

They match. Perfectly.

Oshitari sighs and grips his hip with one hand, while the other brushes knuckles over Atobe's cheekbone. Something in Atobe has let go, a great quivering tension at the back of his mind and he winds arms around Oshitari's waist and pulls him in closer. Their skins slicks together and both their mouths fall open and _God_ , he never knew it could be like this. It is wet and slow, calm and even. Oshitari is laying little suckles of kisses along the line of his mouth, the insides of his lips clinging and tasting. A wet thigh slides between his own. Atobe gasps into the kiss, mouth falling open and Oshitari, the opportunistic asshole, takes full advantage of it. A mouth slips wet and open over his own and something warm slides against his tongue.

Atobe would be indignant if he wasn't currently preoccupied with rocking himself into Oshitari's hip.

"Keigo," Oshitari whispers against his lips, but there's nothing smug about it.

And, alright, Atobe rather likes how Oshitari touches him so reverently, fingers brushing his neck and collarbone and stomach. And lower, yes, lower, finally, what is taking him so long, to curl around his arching cock.

Atobe moans. Oshitari kisses the noise as it comes from his lips.

"Oi, Atobe!"

Oshitari squeezes his dick a little too hard and Atobe bites Oshitari's lower lip. Then they freeze. Both of them have quite forgotten they were in the shower stalls in the clubhouse, surrounded by their whole team.

Atobe is quite sure he's never hated Shishido as much as he hates him now.

"Atobe!" Shishido yells again.

Atobe looks at Oshitari, wide-eyed. "Answer him," Oshitari mouths.

"Wh-what?" he winces as his voice cracks.

Oshitari sniggers.

Atobe elbows him.

"Where's the key? If you want me to open up tomorrow morning, you're gonna have to give me the key!" Shishido says. He sounds annoyed.

Dammit, he forgot all about that.

"In my bag," Atobe says, "Small pocket on the ri- _aaaaah!_ " He chokes. Oshitari moves his hand up and down, smirks at him. "What are you doing!" Atobe hisses, voice thin and outraged.

There's a small pause. Oshitari keeps up a steady pace. Atobe starts to pant.

"To the… the what?" Shishido repeats, but his voice is heavy with suspicion. "Atobe. Is there someone in there with you?"

"No!" he snaps, a little too quickly. "Don't be an idiot. Who can possibly be in here with me?"

"Ooo-kaaay," Shishido goes, not entirely convinced. "I'm taking that key, then."

His footsteps retreat.

Atobe lets out a sigh of relief. Then he hits Oshitari. "You bastard! How dare you- _oh!_ Don't stop."

His head falls back against the wall, thunking painfully, and he feels his mouth part and his breathing go erratic as Oshitari's fingers are warm and slow and so damn good on his cock. He trembles. Oshitari presses slow, chaste kisses against his jaw. All Atobe can do is cling to Oshitari's shoulders, nails digging in, gouging Oshitari's skin away in red streaks.

And on top of it all? Oshitari _talks_.

A stream of low, dirty murmuring escapes between his kisses, pouring the filthy flattery straight against the shell of Atobe's ear. Usually Oshitari's Kansai accent is a highly irritating, pleased sort of drawl, only managing to piss Atobe off. But now he sort of gets why it makes the girls squeal and flutter, inconceivable though that might be at any other time when Oshitari wouldn't have had his hand on Atobe's dick.

"-so fucking sexy. Will you come for me, Keigo? I want to see your face. Come for me-"

And while all that is so wrong, so dirty and filthy, it currently sounds to Atobe as the purest form of worship _ever_.

Atobe can hear himself start to sob into his breaths, feels his mouth fall open even wider and can feel himself push into Oshitari's hand and somewhere vaguely he realizes Oshitari is rocking back against his hip, but that hardly matters when he's touching Atobe like that. Not that anything matter when Oshitari looks at him like that, dark blue eyes locked onto his, the expression in them tender and painfully real.

"-please Keigo, please. You're so beautiful. Come for me, please. I'm so close. I've loved you for so so long-"

Next thing Atobe knows he has to bite down on a scream, some small part of self-preservation must still know they're not alone, and is coming, painful and good, embracing Oshitari out of fear he'll fly apart if he doesn't have anything to hold onto and Oshitari is murmuring his name like a prayer, over and over, and a wet, hot _something_ pools in the crease of Atobe's hipbone, something that's not water, something slippery and familiar.

He shivers and gasps, finally is able to breathe for real after so long and the pleasure isn't completely out of his system yet, wracking his body with passing after-shocks. Somehow he's the one holding Oshitari up now, who is draped against him, clinging to him with his face buried in the curve of Atobe's neck.

In the lull that follows, Atobe passes a hand down Oshitari's back, enjoying the feel of muscles and slick skin under his palm. Oshitari keeps sandwiching Atobe between the wall and his body, keeps shuddering.

Atobe finds he doesn't mind.

It takes a while before Oshitari is able to peel his face away from Atobe's neck and when their eyes meet, he finds them suspiciously red and swimming.

He isn't really surprised.

"Sap," he murmurs.

Oshitari smiles. "Admit it," he whispers and leans in for a kiss, "that was rather romantic, wasn't it?"

"You molested me in the shower!" Atobe answers, pushing him away. "While the whole team was there!"

"Still is," Oshitari points out and smirks.

They are. There's some rummaging in the changing room. Atobe he thinks he can hear Shishido's and Mukahi's voices, and after a moment Ohtori's. He can make out most of what they are saying too, and he can only hope the both of them were quiet enough. After all if _they_ can hear _them_ , it works the other way around, too.

"C'mon slowpokes," Shishido is saying. "If you go any slower you'd be going backwards."

"Hungry?" Ohtori responds. He sounds as though he smiling.

"Well yeah," Shishido answers. "Gakuto, _come on_ already, what's taking you?"

"I'm ready," Mukahi responds.

"Finally- what?"

"I said; someone's forgotten his bags," Ohtori repeats.

"Those are Atobe's," Shishido says.

"No they aren't."

A small pause.

"Huh." Shishido goes. "Whose then?"

And then Mukahi goes, "Hey guys… where's Yuushi?"

In the silence that follows Atobe and Oshitari exchange wry looks. Atobe kind of wants to strangle him.

Suddenly Shishido explodes, " _OH MY GOD_! FUCK! Yuck, shit! Nasty, I can't believe- aaaaargh-"

"What's wrong?" Ohtori exclaims, worried.

"You don't wanna know. We're out of here. NOW!"

Someone stomps out of the clubhouse. It sounds as though someone's being dragged along. Ohtori, judging by the spluttering. Atobe doesn't dare to breathe for a long moment. Oshitari is snickering in unholy glee. One of his favorite forms of entertainment is getting on Shishido's nerves and it seems that he accomplished that in a strange, round-about way.

"Shut up," Atobe snarls, dropping the hushed tone. "I can't believe you! The whole damn school will know of it by tomorrow!"

Oshitari is all out laughing. He looks completely gorgeous while he does it, too: all wet skin and shifting muscles and dark, long hair sticking against his neck.

Atobe smacks him. "Yuushi!"

"He won't tell a soul," Oshitari manages between snatches of chuckles. "He's too much of a prude."

"Yeah, but _I'm_ not!" A voice says from right outside of the shower curtain. "Yuushi, you dog, you!"

Oshitari stops laughing. "Gakuto?"

"Busted," Mukahi says.

"Uh-oh," Oshitari says.

Atobe thinks, _I knew it was a mistake._

And then he pulls Oshitari in for another kiss.

  


After all, some mistakes are meant to be.

_-fin-_


End file.
